The Cottage
by Rocklandgirl
Summary: A story originally intended as a series of summertime one-shots - now extending into a long range story at least into Season 3.  Hope you enjoy ... kind of analytical, admittedly.  Some fluff and M-ratings to come in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**The Cottage**

**Chapter 1: Last Summer**

**(Originally planned to make this a one-shot, but I think it will end up being two chapters instead. This one is just Will … but Emma is in the next chapter. It's just a "snapshot" of their life unfolding that I've had running through my mind for awhile. Hope you like it.)**

**Will's POV**

The summer of 2010 really sucked.

I don't know what I was thinking at the time, last year when school let out. There had been so many misunderstandings and screw-ups with Emma for months. Trying to make sense of what had happened made my head spin. She thought I'd had sex with April. She'd yelled at me in the teacher's lounge, calling me a slut in front of at least a dozen colleagues. She didn't want to hear my explanations or excuses … so I kind of gave up. I guess I really did believe that it would blow over. I really believed the day would come when I could explain what really happened, and of course she would believe me and maybe even feel badly for thinking the worst of me and then things could get back to normal – whatever that meant.

Hell, I knew Emma was crazy about me, she'd told me as much the day of her "almost-wedding" to Ken. Her words still echoed in my head … _"One blink from you Will and I would have been out the door."_ But by the end of the school year it seemed like that had never happened, like something I'd just imagined – or had I? No, I hadn't. There was a connection between us and despite some roadblocks – like the disastrous end of my marriage to Terri and finding out that Emma was still a virgin – I knew we had something that was meant to be. So I went to her. I told her I missed her. That's when she told me that she was dating her dentist. I felt shocked and sick. I couldn't believe this was happening. I knew when she was settling for Ken that it was crazy. A joke. She agreed to marry him so she wouldn't be alone and then made it clear to him that she never wanted to see him outside of school. But this was different. A stranger who she was spending time with every evening after school. And worst of all, she seemed happy about it.

Yes, Emma was steering clear of me. Even after we lost at Regional's and I told her that I loved her _and that she loved me_ and I kissed her. Still, she didn't come back. And the school year ended. And the summer crawled by. And every day sucked. I wanted so badly to call her, but I was afraid to. Afraid to hear how distant she would probably sound. How hard it would be to think of things to say. That had never been a problem for us before, but things were strange now and I didn't have any clever ideas about a reason to call her. I'd just have to wait until August when the faculty went back to school. Surely there would be a reason for us to talk then, and maybe it would be different and the dentist would be out of the picture.

Yep, last summer sucked. I went fishing at the lake with my dad a few times, but no real vacation. Read a few books. Worked on set lists for New Directions. Ran almost every day. Running helped. It was hard to get started most days, but after a couple of miles I was on the other side of that invisible wall. I was at the place where I'd feel the sweat cooling my body and my thighs felt strong like I could run forever. My breathing would even out and I'd lose myself in the music on my iPod. I purposely avoided any playlist with a song that reminded me of Emma.

It was one day after a run that I came home, took a shower and looked around my place. I mean, really looked around. Terri's craft room. The sofa she'd chosen. The throw pillows she'd covered. The Pottery Barn dining room table we couldn't afford. Even the colors of every wall. It wasn't my place, not really. When we moved in and she decorated I didn't really give it much thought. She liked doing that kind of stuff and god knows it never occurred to me that I'd ever live there alone. But by the summer of 2010, I was most definitely alone and had another year on the lease. I'd made a few half-hearted inquiries about getting someone to sublet the apartment, but I hadn't really made it a priority. Besides, I didn't have a clue about the kind of place I wanted to live in next. I didn't know what I really liked without Terri prompting and prodding at every turn. Without even realizing it, I started to figure it out that very evening.

It was a warm night and I went for a drive out on Route 45 to The Cone Zone, one of my favorite ice cream places as a kid. Growing up I went there every Friday night with my parents until high school when I wouldn't have been caught dead in public with them. Once I had my driver's license I would take Terri there almost every day in the summertime. But this time it wasn't nostalgia that was calling to me, it was their homemade Moose Tracks in a waffle cone. Route 45 was kind of a lazy road and I loved driving out in that direction. It was the definition of pure peace. Sometimes I'd jump on my bike for an early morning ride and find myself headed there. Pastures, ponds, rolling hills, dotted with pretty old houses and a few antique stores … a place preserved and protected from the onslaught of Applebee's and Dunkin' Donuts and Home Depots that had popped up around the rest of the Lima.

That night as I stepped out of The Cone Zone in a frantic battle to control my melting Moose Tracks, I decided to take a stroll before heading back to the car. That's when I saw it. The cottage. It was set back from the road a bit and was surrounded by a low stone wall. The surrounding gardens were well kempt with beds of wildflowers that splashed bright colors against the muted mossy tone of the house. It had a front porch … a real front porch, with a porch swing. I could see dim lighting through the drawn curtains. Even on the warm night, it felt cozy. Like the perfect place to be through lazy summers and bitter winters. I imagined that the people inside must be very happy.

It was at that moment that I became aware of an older gentleman walking along the side yard rolling up a garden hose. He looked down the driveway in my direction. I was slightly embarrassed. The last thing I wanted was for this old man to think I was lurking around in front of his house to do something evil. But his face told me otherwise. He was smiling a warm smile and lifted his hand in a friendly wave.

For some reason I called to him … _"Hi! You've got a lovely home here …"_ He walked toward me, _"Why thank you, son. You from around here?"_

_"Yes. I live just east of Lima. I teach at the high school."_

_"Oh, really … what do you teach?"_

_"Spanish."_

_"Oh! Wonderful! Hola … como estas? Don't answer that, it's all the Spanish I know so I can't really carry on a conversation."_ He put out his hand to shake mine. _"I'm George Riley."_

_"I'm Will Schuester. George Riley? Why does that name sound so familiar?"_

_"Well, until about 2½ years ago I still had my private practice in town. You've probably driven past my office on Court Street. I retired in 2008. I was a GP here in Lima just about all my life."_

_"Well Dr. Riley, I hope you don't mind me admiring your beautiful place ..."_

_"Not at all. And please, it's George. Yep, we love it here. This place has been in the family since it was built in 1909."_

That began a visit that lasted nearly 2 hours. George invited me up to his porch. I told him that I was really captivated by the cottage. He gave me a tour. It wasn't nearly as small as I thought at first from the outside. Wide plank floors, original hardware and molding. Clearly the place had been cared for with great attention paid to every detail. At the time I was curious, but said nothing about the hospital bed set up in the den at the back of the house. After he showed me around I took him up on the offer of a beer. We settled back on the front porch and by the time I left he knew that I'd grown up in Lima, loved being a teacher and the director of the Glee Club, was divorced from my high school sweetheart who I described as being _a bit hard to deal with_ and that I was now in love with someone else. Someone who, I had a feeling, would love this cottage too. I also explained that I'd somehow managed to screw things up and that she was seeing someone else now.

George in turn told me not to give up hope that "the young lady in question" would come to her senses. He also told me his own love story … married for 49 years … he had retired at the age of 72 so that he and his wife Sally could enjoy themselves in this place they loved and also do some traveling to spend more time with kids and grandkids who had relocated to every corner of the U.S. by now. Yes, that was the _plan_. And then ten months ago Sally was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. The time since then had been filled with traveling alright. Traveling to the Cleveland Clinic, Mass General, Duke, Johns Hopkins. Acceptance was a hard thing, George explained to me. But it had been Sally's decision to stop trying new things and looking for the next miracle. _"She just told me yesterday … she said, 'George, I'm tired. I accept what's happening now, and I hope you can too.' And so, what choice do I have?"_

He told me that the following day he would be bringing Sally home from her latest hospital stay. This time Hospice would be coming to take care of her. No more hospitals.

I left George on his porch that night after giving him my number and email address. I told him that meeting him had been a great pleasure ... a real light in the midst of a very dim summer break ... and that although I knew he had lots of close friends in the area, if he needed anything to please let me know.

On my way home I took a detour to pass by Emma's condo. It was dark by now, and honestly I kind of felt like a stalker, but I really wanted to see her … to feel close to her. I wanted to tell her about the cottage and about George and about what it was like to sit there and listen to this man … sad and happy all at once.

I wanted to share with her the way I used to. I pulled into the parking lot by her building. She had two parking spots. Her car was in one of them and the other was occupied by a shiny Corvette convertible. The sliding doors leading to her second story balcony were opened and I heard two voices through the screen. Emma was talking to a man … the dentist I assumed. They were laughing. I felt sick and sorry for myself. And I didn't dare glance up for fear that they'd seen me pull up.

I thought back to what George had said to me about _acceptance. _I almost wished he was with me in that moment to tell me how I'd ever be able to accept losing Emma.

_(Please review! Need to hear what you guys REALLY think. Constructive criticism very much appreciated!)_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Cottage**

**Chapter 2: Going Along for the Ride**

**(Originally planned to make this a one-shot, then a couple of chapters, but now I'm thinking of seeing where it leads over the summer. Thanks to all for the reviews on Chapter 1. Hope you enjoy this one!)**

**Emma's POV**

The summer of 2011 looks like it may be very different from the summer of 2010. To put things in perspective I need to look back, even though parts of the past are difficult to face – I know it's what I need to do.

For starters, the man I was dating this time last year continued to pursue me after school let out. I began the summer break in what I can only describe as emotional shock after Will grabbed me in the hallway and proclaimed his love. He literally said, _"I love you Emma. There, I said it. And you love me. And dentist or no, this thing between us isn't over." _Then he kissed me. He kissed me! Not that he hadn't kissed me in the hallway before, but there were people around this time. So many things were flying through my mind as a felt his lips on mine …

_This is crazy who do you think you are? What makes you think you have the right to tell me who I love? … Of course I love you! … Stop kissing me! … Don't ever stop kissing me! What if someone is watching? ... I don't care who sees us! _

All of this ricocheted in my mind as the most irritating sound in the world brought me back to reality. Nails on a chalk board? No. Worse. Rachel Berry's whiny, demanding voice beckoning to _Mr. Schuester_. Ugh. _When will the floor open up and swallow that girl?_

Looking back now, I'm grateful that Rachel interrupted us. If she hadn't I don't know what would have happened next. I'm pretty sure I would have said something crazy …

_Go away and leave me alone I never want to see you again and if you don't grab me and take me home and make love to me right now I am going to throw myself in front of a school bus …._

I remember my grandmother telling me that everything in life happens the way it does for a reason. Of course I was 12 at the time … and she was in the throes of dementia … so I questioned everything she said. But I feel differently now. Thanks Grandma. I hope you're watching out for me. I have a feeling that you are.

Anyway, Will's kiss and proclamation of love felt like a fantasy, and so that's exactly the category I neatly place it in. Not an actual dream. But a momentary lapse on his part, brought on by losing Regionals and losing me to my dentist. Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say. And I figured that's what Will was doing. I surmised that if he really did love me somehow our relationship wouldn't have become such a mess. What I didn't know at the time was how much more desperate those desperate measures would become at the start of the next school year.

So I let myself date Carl all summer. We saw movies. We went for long drives in his Corvette convertible. I even let my hair get blown and tangled in the wind. It felt good. Well, sort of.

Evenings would end with a walk to my door, but I seldom invited him in. He was handsome and funny and clearly smitten. I'd be crazy not to give this a chance. I wasn't repeating the same mistake I'd made with Ken. I truly hated every minute I spent with Ken. Looking at him made my stomach turn. Carl was different and the way I felt about Carl was different. So different in fact, that I talked myself into believing that this was where I belonged. And so, on those nights when he walked me to the door I eventually let him kiss me. He kissed me with the force of an athlete getting ready for the big game. Lots of energy. Not unpleasant. Nothing to dread by any means. But nothing that caused me to stir inside. _That's okay_, I told myself, _there are more important things. It will change in time._

I did think about Will. And every now and then I let myself think about the last thing I heard him say. _I love you … you love me … no dentist … between us … isn't finished._ The phrases seemed to come out of nowhere at the oddest times. In the supermarket, in the shower, driving. Not always. But when they did come they must have taken me far away because the next thing I knew, when I snapped out of it, time had passed. For all I know I may have run a red light or two. Once or twice in the shower I would get so lost in replaying the hallway memory that I'd take it to a whole new level. In my fantasy the school was empty, no Figgins, no Sue, no Rachel. Just us. And there we were, kissing. I responded. He pushed me against the locker and pulled at the hem of my skirt.

Meanwhile, in the shower I was touching and stroking myself to a near frenzy. Then it would stop as I tried frantically to pull it together. _Focus Emma. Focus on your life. The real world. The handsome boyfriend. Focus. Now._

And so, in time, the fantasies were less frequent and I continued to enjoy Carl's company more and more. He didn't push me, but he had a definite drive. Thinking of places to go and things to do was easy for Carl. I began to feel like I had a life. A life that extended far beyond my fantasies and pining for a newly-divorced man.

The summer passed fairly quickly, then at the beginning of the new school year the weirdest thing happened. A met someone new at work. He was familiar to me, up to a point. Familiar dimple. Familiar vests. Familiar voice. His name was still Will Schuester, but from the moment he met Carl in my office one day, he became someone I barely recognized.

When I think about it now I wonder why he didn't do the macho thing you see in movies, like threaten to beat Carl up. That wasn't his approach. And while I don't really picture Will as a violent man … the method he did use was almost more shocking. It included some very odd behaviors that my therapist recently suggested I put in a list. I liked that idea – not of odd behaviors, but of making a list.

So, here it is …

MY LIST OF THINGS WILL DID AS A REACTION TO MY RELATIONSHIP WITH CARL (along with a few editorial comments that I mentioned to Dr. Shane when we talked about it):

Puffed out his chest when he met him for the first time in my office.

Made time for Carl during Glee Club practice to talk to the kids about dental health as if he was granting him backstage access at a Journey reunion concert.

Nearly passed out (as did I) when Santana mentioned something about being "drilled" by Carl.

Bought a new car. Not just any car, but a Corvette convertible exactly like Carl's. Oh, plus heated seats.

Got me into that new Corvette in the school parking lot and proceeded to sing along to "Sailing" by Christopher Cross on the radio. Then he took me on a ride that ended abruptly twenty feet later when his ex-wife jumped in front of the car.

Sang and danced the lead in a performance of "Toxic" at a school assembly. How can I describe this so that it really does the experience justice? Teacher. At work. At school. In an assembly for kids. Jumping. Gyrating. _Can u feel me now?_ Piercing me with his … um … his eyes as I sat, mortified, in the bleachers. A year earlier I would have given a kidney for that kind of attention from Will. But at this point, it just felt kind of creepy and sad. I was more worried that Will - my friend Will – would get into a lot of trouble for doing it. Which, of course, he did.

Then there was Rocky Horror. Where to begin? I guess the whole thing should have been a red flag – the notion that a public high school in Ohio was going to do a stage production of an "R"-rated movie, but I loved it and Will knew that so I was thrilled to help out with the costumes.

So much for the list. Will went too far. Over the top on everything. And I told Carl about the "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" rehearsal. I guess what happened in that classroom with Will scared me so much that I ran to what felt safe and sure. Carl. The Carl. But at the same time I couldn't face the fact that I had been a more than willing participant in that "performance". The shock of what I did that day – I now realize – made me retreat further into a place away from Will. A place where I really believed the biggest risks would be mixing red and green grapes and riding in a convertible. I went along for the ride that would take me as far away from Will Schuester as I could possibly get.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Cottage**

**Chapter 3**

**(I'm still laying some foundation here, but I am going to continue with this as a longer story. Thanks so much for the reviews and feedback on the first two chapters.)**

**(Emma's POV)**

After Will had exhausted himself trying everything on that list, he finally backed off. He agreed with me. Or at least he agreed with what I was very busy telling myself at the time. _Carl was helping me._ And as long as that was the case, Will was no longer going to interfere. No longer going to pursue me.

I smiled when he told me this, and I accepted his apology. To this day I feel a little guilty about that. I tried to push that feeling away. I tried, and succeeded for a long time to conveniently overlook the way things really happened during the "Toucha Touch Me" rehearsal that day in Will's classroom. Yes, it had been his idea. And no, when I showed up I had no idea of the way things would play out. All I do know is that one moment I was in his classroom removing my navy cardigan … pulling at his vest … ripping his shirt off, buttons flying everywhere … pushing everything from the desk … clutching his muscular chest, so close to kissing him, touching him, letting him touch me. I was a willing participant. But I was nowhere near being able to admit that or look at what it meant. Instead I ran to Carl with a somewhat diluted version of the story. Then the fireworks happened. Carl confronted Will. Will felt terrible. And I sat there letting him take the fall by himself.

I couldn't think about that though. All I could do was retreat again to the safe haven that Carl offered. Even if it meant not talking about my work very often. It began to feel like anything to do with McKinley High School made Carl uncomfortable because he knew it was a connection to Will. So I decided that the more time I spent with Carl and away from Will the more likely I was to forget that Will Schuester even existed outside of weekly faculty staff meetings.

Then came the invitation to Sectionals. Will's invitation was sweet. Not pushy. Not taking advantage. Sincere and polite and gentlemanly. And I wanted to go. I knew it wouldn't go over well with Carl, but I really, really wanted to go. Time for another list, again prompted recently by Dr. Shane who insists that I be as honest as possible doing my work in therapy with her.

She tells me, _"Emma, if you stick only to what you allowed yourself to think and do in the past, you'll end up repeating old actions. Sharing historical information with me is one thing, but I'd like you to focus on how you really __felt__. Nothing bad will happen. You're safe."_

So I traveled back to that time and put together my list of why I wanted to go to Sectionals so that Dr. Shane might get to know me better and understand my motivation, because heaven knows I was having a hard time figuring it out.

Why I Wanted To Go To Sectionals in November 2010:

Because I care about Glee Club and wanted to show my support.

Because I felt nostalgic about being with them since the year before I was with them when they won.

Because I'd felt close to Will on that occasion, the day I didn't marry Ken, the day I was honest with him about my feelings.

Because I loved the idea of spending a day with Will.

But I didn't go. I couldn't. If I'd really been over Will and my motives were only about supporting the Glee kids I would never have made such a point of hiding it from Carl till the night before. The chain of events triggered by this disclosure was nothing short of crazy.

It started on the night before, that Friday evening just before dinner at his condo.

I told Carl I had agreed to go to Sectionals

He flipped out. I mean really flipped out. I wasn't scared of him, but I wasn't used to having a jealous boyfriend. I wasn't used to having any kind of boyfriend. And then, out of nowhere really, he sounded desperate and scared when he blurted out, _"Emma … I love you!"_

That sealed the deal. How could I run off to Sectionals after that declaration? I stared at him for a moment. His eyes were big and dark and seeking. In that moment he reminded me of our neighbors St. Bernard when I was a kid. His name was Sam and I remember those eyes when he begged for a treat as if he might roll over and die without it. And so in that moment, with my great lack of experience as a girlfriend, I gave Carl the treat he was clearly begging for … _"Oh Carl … I love you too …"_

_Did I really say that?_

Yes, yes I did. So I got up the next morning, went to the school parking lot and told Will my latest self-imposed rendition of the truth.

_I'm not going. _

_Carl got upset. _

_We had a fight. _

_Blah, blah, blah. _

_Rocky Horror Show. _

_Told me he loves me. _

_Told him I love him back._

Kiss on cheek.

_Good luck._

Get me the heck out of here.

Seven months later, a sunny Friday morning at the end of June and the 2010-2011 school year was finally history. Parking places in the middle of town were at a premium this time of year since the Farmer's Market filled the square. I was a few minutes late for my appointment with Julia. Dr. Shane, that is. About a month ago she'd told me that I could feel free to call her Julia if I felt comfortable doing so. I didn't. So I kept calling her Dr. Shane, when I called her anything at all. Usually I avoided using any personal means of addressing her. It felt too close and personal.

But I found myself liking and trusting her more as time went by. I liked her calm. Her acceptance. Her apparent lack of judgment. I was really starting to believe that she didn't think I was a freak. In fact, I guess I felt that was from our very first session, although the feeling was quite foreign to me then. I had hope. It seeped in somehow. There must have been some crack in my veneer that was allowing a new possibility to start taking hold. I took my Lexapro every day and showed up here every week. I wanted to get better. I wanted a life.

So that morning I raced into her office out of breath, sure that she'd be upset by my tardiness, even though I'd never seen her upset before.

"_Hi Emma, have a seat."_

"_I'm so, so sorry …"_

"_Why?"_

"_I'm never late."_

"_That's okay. It happens. On Farmer's Market day parking can be a real pain in the butt."_

I loved it when she spoke in normal human terms like that. It almost made me believe that she had a normal life with crowded parking lots and maybe even messes to clean up. Whenever I began to question that my thoughts returned to my first session when she told me about her post-partum depression. She had suffered. She'd had issues. She reminded me that I'm not alone. I can have a life. I'm more than a disease or disorder.

As I nodded politely about the parking issues I settled into the _nest_. I'd never told Dr. Shane this, but I thought of the wingback chair where I sat across from her each week as a _nest_. It felt safe. At least as safe as I could feel in this place that was all about two of my least favorite things … exposure and examination.

The hardest part of each session was the beginning. Surprisingly by the end of each visit I felt like I was hitting some sort of stride. Getting used to putting my foot into deeper, colder water each time. Breathing. Becoming more present with every disclosure and discovery. Slowly I was getting through. First through some growing up memories. Some good. Some not. But at least I was beginning to consider the prospect that I was not irreversibly flawed because of a childish prank pulled by my brother Jeff at a dairy farm almost 25 years ago.

Without finding it particularly unusual, I told Dr. Shane that I'd always been alone. Yes, a mom and dad and brother. And neighbors of course. Oh, and classmates who didn't really stand out as vivid memories for me at this point in my life. But I was alone, if not literally certainly in my mind. Yes, my only sibling, my brother who's three years my senior, really was a good guy - but hardly a friend or confidant. I went first to community college then transferred for undergrad and grad school to a state university large enough to keep me below the radar. As much as I hated crowds and especially crowds of strangers, it really was a handy place to be alone and invisible, which was exactly what I wanted.

That's what was so striking for me, explaining to Dr. Shane how that changed … at least a little bit … when I moved to Lima after being hired at McKinley. On that very first day of work, I wanted to be noticed. Noticed by Will that is. I guess it was halfway through a friendly chat … a friendly, _easy_ chat with Will in the teacher's lounge after my first staff meeting. I actually saw myself – as if I was floating above the scene. I was smiling and gesturing and laughing and blushing. Oh god, I was _blushing_. And Will – he was grinning and listening to me, _really_ looking straight into my eyes when I spoke.

What on earth was happening? I'd never been in a situation like it before. And then, as if being drawn by the vaguely persistent pull of a tiny magnet, my eyes fell upon his left hand and noticed for the first time the gold wedding band. Immediately I felt my stomach drop to my knees. Will acted as if he didn't notice my change in tone, but I don't know how he could have missed it. I was distracted and babbling incoherently, or so I thought.

Those were some of the snapshots that stood out from the early weeks of therapy as I disclosed what I could to Dr. Shane. In time other secrets and feelings tumbled out as I sat here in my nest across from her. Fear, panic, anxiety – all old acquaintances that - in reality - controlled nothing. As time passed I came to learn that the control I tried desperately to exert in so many situations was nothing more than an illusion.

On this particular morning Dr. Shane didn't even glance down at her pad. She picked up without missing a beat from where we'd stopped a week ago.

"_So Emma, when we ended your last session you were making some real headway ..."_

"_Um … OK … what was that?"_ I lied.

"_You were telling me about losing control."_

"_Oh, gee … uh, yes … something about … um … Will …"_

"_Specifically you were telling me about when you realized that your ability to exert control was slipping … and that you felt ashamed. Can you tell me more about that?"_

"_Yes. Well, I was married to Carl and I'd been doing so well keeping focused on him. On being married to him. Even though … well, you know … we hadn't … hadn't …"_

"_Had sex?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So you were focusing on being married … and what happened?"_

"_I … I was walking down the hall one morning … and Will came around the corner. He looked terrible. Really awful. But cute. He can look terrible and cute … um … at the same time … I don't know it doesn't make any sense …"_

"_Sure it does Emma … keep going."_

"_Well, he had a bad hangover."_

"_Is that a common occurrence for Will?"_

"_Oh gosh … no! He'd been out with the football coach the night before. She's … well she's kind of unusual … but I like her … I don't know, but they went out to blow off some steam or something …"_

"_OK … so he had a hangover and looked cute and terrible."_

"_Yes. And he was wearing sunglasses. He looks great in sunglasses."_

I paused at that memory. It felt like I didn't say anything for a really long time.

**(Dr. Julia Shane's POV)**

Emma stared into her lap, picking at her cuticles. From the first session whenever she sat like that I knew she was getting somewhere, and that was good. It was hard for her, but so far it had preceded a deeper level of dealing with guilt and shame.

Finally I spoke. _"OK, so Will is hungover and looks good in sunglasses and …?"_

"_And he apologized for calling me the night before when he was drunk. Only he didn't call me. I didn't get a message from him … and I told him so. He seemed really embarrassed."_

"_How did you feel?"_

"_I was curious about the call, but then he said it was a weird dream or something."_

"_But how did you feel?"_

"_Confused. And kind of excited … but, well, there's more. The next day Sue … you know, she's the one who …"_

"_Yes"_ I cut in. _"I remember you mentioning her. The real character!"_

"_You could say that. Anyway apparently Will really did make a call that night and … well, he accidentally left a drunken message on Sue's voicemail. So there I was in my office on a Friday afternoon when Sue got on the PA system in another attempt to ruin Will's career and played the message for the entire school."_

"_Wow. She's something …"_

"_Oh, yes. She certainly is."_

"_And the message?"_

"_It started out and, well, um, I didn't know what was coming … and I just remember hearing Will's voice … he said something like 'Hey there sexy lady' and 'I love how you eat your lunch with your little plastic gloves and they're crinkly and make cute sounds' and that's when I knew."_

Emma stopped short, like she was out of breath. I wanted to keep the momentum going so I asked … _"Knew what?"_

"_Knew that he'd meant the message for me. The plastic gloves."_

"_Yes. I see. Is that where it ended?"_

"_Oh gosh, no. He went on about wanting me to come over with wine coolers to have one night together to get crazy and roll in the hay. He'd been at that place Rosalita's Roadhouse and he said he rode a bull and was thinking of me …"_

By the time Emma finished the story I thought she might hyperventilate, but I sat quietly and let her regain her composure before I spoke, _"And how did you feel about that?"_

"_Well, gosh, he was drunk. He didn't know what he was doing …"_

"_Emma, back to how you felt about the message."_

"_I felt worried for Will. I didn't want him to get into trouble."_

"_OK, you felt worried for Will. How did you feel about what he said? Yes, he was drunk … but did you have any feelings about what he said?"_

Emma paused and I saw, for the first time during the session, the most subtle of smiles appearing on her lips. I said nothing. She remained quiet for awhile longer. I let her sit in the quiet. In the feelings. Finally she said, _"Excited. I felt excited. And turned on. And embarrassed too. Embarrassed like I feel right now."_

The smile faded and that guilty expression returned.

"_Emma, it's alright … all of your feelings are alright. But there's a distinction. Embarrassment, yes, it's a feeling … but basically it's a reaction to other things. The __real__ feelings that you had that day were the sense of excitement and being turned on … am I right?"_

"_Yes … yes, that's right."_

"_Good."_

"_Good?"_

"_Yes. Good."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because you're reflecting on an important time right now, and you're identifying your feelings __and__ you're taking me with you."_

"_Yea … I guess so … I think that was the day when I knew I wasn't done with Will, even if I didn't admit it to myself, and certainly not to anyone else. I wasn't ready to. But after so many months of trying to be okay with the choices I'd made, this was the day that something shifted."_

"_Emma, that's big. It really is. Now I'm afraid we have to stop soon, but you're making real progress here."_

"_Really? I feel kind of shaky …"_

"_That's okay."_

"_And now I'm supposed to meet Will. My __friend__ Will." _She stressed the word friend almost as if she was making fun of herself. _"He asked me on the last day of school if maybe we could hang out … you know … see each other from time to time over the summer. And I want to …"_

"_But?"_

"_But I guess I feel guilty."_

"_Emma, we've talked a lot about your heightened sense of responsibility and what's proper. Not allowing yourself to enjoy life hasn't always worked in your best interest, has it?"_

"_Good point."_

"_You just got done telling me about a day months ago when you started to know something pretty major about your feelings for Will. It's a funny thing … coming to that kind of realization … once you __know__ something, you can't __un-know__ it."_

**(Emma's POV)**

Dr. Shane's words ran through my mind incessantly as I walked out of her building. _Once you know something, you can't un-know it._ So much of the past year had been devoted to denial. No, actually so much of the past 32 years.

**(Will's POV)**

I can't believe I'm already going to see Em. School's only been out for 2 days and just asking if it would be okay to get together sometime over the summer was hard enough. But I have to say, she seemed pretty receptive. Or was that my imagination?

Anyway I'm glad I just held my breath and called her last night. I asked her if she'd like to meet at the Farmer's Market and wander around … then maybe have lunch. I didn't want to push or plan too much. She said that meeting at noon in the square, right in the middle of the marketplace, would be perfect. I guess she had to be in town for something else.

So I woke up without the alarm. I was excited. And kind of afraid to be excited. I had coffee, ate some toast, showered and dressed, still excited. Still kind of afraid. All ready to go, I grabbed my keys and iPhone and headed for the door. Plopping into the driver's seat I cranked the engine and the time flashed on the dashboard – 10:45am. _What the hell?_ I hadn't even stopped to notice that I was over an hour early to meet Emma. Now what? Go back inside and pace? No. Go for a run? No, I'm showered and ready to go. I don't want to start over. Then it dawned on me. Called to me, really. I knew exactly how to spend some time before meeting up with Em.

**(Hope you enjoyed … sorry again for the delay caused by laziness and writer's block! Please read and review! Need all the help and guidance I can get!) **


	4. Chapter 4

**The Cottage**

**Chapter 4: **

**(Thanks so much for the reviews and feedback on the first three chapters. Sorry for the delay with updates. Hope you enjoy this next installment.)**

**(Emma's POV)**

I was grateful for the clean azure sky as I walked toward the outdoor market. It meant a break in the weather. I hate extreme heat and humidity and the past week had been oppressive. Most summers I didn't mind retreating into the solitude (Dr. Shane would call it _isolation_) of my air-conditioning, but I feel differently now. I kind of enjoy the idea of being outside in real air. I have to give Carl some credit for that. Last summer he was with me through my absolute refusal to ride in his convertible, to being mildly freaked out at speeds above 25 miles per hour, to almost appreciating the feeling of the wind in my hair. However it did require that I add fifteen minutes to my shower routine for special conditioning to ensure no tangles or split ends. Back then I suspected that my changing attitude about his car was an indication of other big steps I might be able to make with this handsome, generous man. I was wrong.

But today isn't about Carl. Nor is it about beating myself up over the hurt and humiliation I no doubt caused him. Today I'm being mindful. Mindful of the moment, as Dr. Shane … Julia … so often says. Experiencing the day as a participant, not as an anxious spectator.

In this newfound perceptive skin I walked towards the small café set up at the border of the square, directly opposite the main marketplace, to meet my friend … my date … my friend date. This internal battle of semantics was cut short when I saw him. I stayed on the perimeter and watched. He was at a vegetable stand, picking through a mountain of corn, pulling back husks, returning the rejects and dropping the keepers into a brown paper sack. He was unassuming … and gorgeous … his sunglasses pushed backed on his head. Will in sunglasses. Walking past my office as I counseled Quinn and Finn on how to be cool. Telling me about his drunken frat boy night that ended in the drunk dial to end all drunk dials. Sunglasses and Will Schuester … a combination I evidently still found overpowering.

As I moved closer I thought of calling out to him, but held back a bit longer as he continued his jovial exchange with the woman working at the stand. The simple act of pointing at peppers … crimson, brilliant gold, deep orange … asking a question of the proprietor, smiling at her response, paying for the corn, putting the change into his pocket … was a display of one of the things that had first attracted me to him, his warmth. And it was part of every move, every gesture, every expression. Watching him felt thrilling and soothing at the same time.

Later in the day I would think back to this moment with a keen realization that the messy cornsilk popping out of the bag, some strands still clinging to his pants, didn't bother me at all.

I decided to be bold as he turned away from the stand and headed in the direction of the café. Sneaking behind him I poked him in his ribs …"Hi there!"

He appeared to be delighted when he spun around to face me. "Emma!" … he laughed and pulled me into an impulsive hug, squeezing me along with the bag of corn. It happened so fast, followed by a moment of shy awkwardness for us both. He quickly filled the empty air.

"You …" he looked me up and down with a broad grin as if he hadn't seen me in months … "You look great!"

"Oh, thanks …" I glanced at his bag, "… so, you bought some corn?" _No Emma, I bought a pair of sneakers_, my mind began to attack me. He didn't seem to notice that I felt like an idiot.

"Yep … I love fresh corn in season … one of the benefits of living in Ohio. Duh … I guess that's pretty obvious." His nervousness made me feel a little better about my own. He motioned in the direction of the café. "Should we sit down, or do you want to walk around the market?"

"Oh, maybe later … right now I'd love to sit and have some iced tea."

I grabbed a table in the shade as Will went for the tea. It gave me the moment I needed to reach into my bag for a disinfectant wipe to clean the table, although Will was back with the drinks so quickly I felt a pang of guilt. It was as if being caught slipping into my OCD behavior was even more hideous than sitting at a sticky table.

He surprised me by saying, "Oh, good … I'm glad you wiped off the table. I walked by here earlier and the place with filled with moms and kids and exploding juice boxes!"

"Whew! Well thank goodness I haven't made such major strides that I travel without my Clorox wipes!"

We settled in to an easy, safe conversation about the summer ahead. My plans to visit my brother and his family in August. His anecdotes about helping his dad screen in the side porch on their house. He laughed, recounting the history of this running family joke … "My folks have been talking about that damn porch since before I was in the sixth grade. Our neighbors screened in their porch that summer and after that my parents couldn't stop talking about having a screened porch as if it was going to be a life-changing experience. For years it would come up, usually after my mom had a few glasses of wine … and every single time she'd announce it like it was a new idea. Finally I made the mistake of teasing my parents about it last weekend and the next thing I know I'm in Home Depot with my dad buying two-by-fours and volunteering to help him!"

"That's so sweet …" my face flushed from the spontaneity of my response. "Uh … you know what I mean. Father and son being handy. You know …" I continued to stumble … "doing handy things together … around the house."

"Yeah … it'll be great, shouldn't take too much time. To be honest, I thought about asking him if he wanted to do it last summer, but …" his voice faded along with his smile as he looked down at the table, then up at me … "I don't know. Last summer I just didn't have it in me."

I couldn't hold the connection with his eyes, instead diverting my gaze through the plastic lid that covered my tea. I studied the lemon wedge floating between two ice cubes. My stomach tightened with remorse knowing full well my part in Will's emotional condition at that time. I finally ended the difficult silence.

"Will?"

"Yes?"

"Just now … before I met you here … I was with Dr. Shane. I switched to Friday morning appointments for the summer."

"Oh. I knew you said you had something to do in town before we met."

"That was it."

"How's it going?" Catching himself immediately he added … "I'm sorry … that's really personal. I didn't mean to pry …"

"No, it's okay." I had the urge to reach across the table and touch his hand. I wanted to feel my skin on his, even in this most innocent way. Instead I reassured him with words, "You don't have to apologize. I'm the one who brought it up. It's nice that you're interested."

"Interested?" His half smile was warm, his forehead creased, his eyes fixed squarely on mine. "Emma … there is nothing about you that doesn't interest me."

The sincerity of his words, his whole manner, was almost more than I could take in. Like another in a long series of those fantasies I'd recounted to Dr. Shane where Will would say or do something loving and tender … at which point I'd usually hear something like Santana screaming an obscenity in the hallway outside of my office and be summarily jolted back to reality. But this time it was real and I let it happen. I didn't panic, not visibly anyway, and I didn't change the subject.

"Thank you, Will. You've been so great."

"Emma, I told you months ago that I'm here for you …"

"Yes, I know …" glancing into my lap, "… as a _friend_ I can count on." My voice dipped at the word – friend. When he'd said those words to me the day I told him Carl was gone, I grabbed onto them like a lifesaver. Now they felt heavy and unsatisfying as they fell from my mouth.

Another endless moment of stillness ensued. Finally I dared to look at Will's face again. What I'd silently planned to be a glimpse turned into a staring contest. Not the kind my brother and I used to engage in on the front porch before my mom called us in for dinner. Those challenges determined who would wash and who would dry the dishes. This was very different. And it went on and on, wordless, until finally Will broke the silence, still without blinking.

"Emma, if I didn't know better I'd say you sound disappointed."

"Disappointed? About what?"

"I don't know … I just got the feeling with the 'friend you can count on' comment …"

The impulse to regain some kind of decorum left me flailing my hands, as if to help me explain myself. "Well, I figured that's what you were getting ready to say … you know … since that's what you said back in the spring … after telling me you're here for me …" I felt the sound of defensiveness stirring in my voice.

Will was calm. "I know. And what I'm saying now is that I'm still here for you. And I'm proud of you. Is that okay?"

I drew a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing a wide smile to emerge. Will smiled back, the smiles turned into giggles as the absurdity of this war of words became clear.

"Yes, yes … that's okay." I responded to his question.

"Good. Maybe, for now, we could just relax …"

"I'd like that." I cheerfully responded, knowing full well how foreign it was for me, relaxing. Especially at the thought of spending time around Will.

**(Will's POV)**

Being with Emma today was illuminating. There had been so much progress I hadn't yet seen in the time I'd spent preparing for Nationals, struggling with the New York move, finishing the school year. She was getting better in ways I'd had no clue about. "I need to practice, that's what Dr. Shane says!" she announced almost proudly as we decided what to eat for lunch.

She actually split a Cobb Salad with me, minus the bleu cheese and bacon, of course. One bowl, two forks, two more iced teas … it was great. And while I was somewhat surprised by the turn the conversation had taken, I have to admit that I was encouraged by it. Encouraged that the notion of just being friends seemed to be disappointing to her. But this was no time to push too hard. Tread lightly. Let things unfold. That was to be my mantra where Emma was concerned, at least for now.

The end of her marriage, the fairly abrupt dead end of my short-lived relationship with Holly and my consideration of a theater career in New York had all happened in a bubble of time. Not fast, nor prolonged, just intense. And the fact remained that there were still so many things we hadn't discussed. Nevertheless, today was the first time in … well, what felt like forever … that we'd spoken about ourselves in relation to each other. That felt like progress.

As we left the café to explore the market together my mind was set on two things. First, extending my time with Emma for as long as possible and secondly, having some sense of when we might see each other again. So much for treading lightly. I pondered my options as I squinted at bushels of berries … strawberries, blueberries, boysenberries, blackberries, raspberries … the colors fusing into a blur of deep magenta.

The sight of Emma a few steps ahead brought me back to the moment. She had stopped to examine baskets of freshly-baked artisan breads. My mind immediately went into overdrive at the panic she must be experiencing, the notion of unwrapped bread that could have been touched by god knows how many unwashed hands from the greater Lima population. I watched silently as she pondered the presentation of rye, pumpernickel and sourdough. Her expression was more concentration and wonderment than anything else. Tentatively, she picked up the tongs next to the display. Then in a move I can only describe as determined, she snapped open a tightly folded brown paper bag with her free hand and plucked up a small loaf of country white. She neatly folded the top of the bag and paid the young man tending the baked goods. Turning to look for me, she was surprised by my proximity.

"Oh, Will … I, um … I thought you were buying berries." Shy Emma had reappeared.

"Nah … just looking at them. That's another weakness besides corn. I come to this place in the summer … buy a bunch of fresh berries, then go home and forget they're in my fridge until they go bad."

"But they're good for you … assuming you wash them properly, that is." Teasing Emma replaced shy Emma. A good sign.

"Yes Miss Pillsbury, you've taught me all about the virtues of clean fruit. So … you bought some bread?"

"I did indeed Mr. Schuester. You and I are going to walk over to the park and feed the ducks at the duck pond."

My knees nearly gave out. Not only did Emma come up with an idea to make our time together last longer, she was feeding dirty ducks at a scummy pond! This woman is a goddess. I have no idea how goofy my grin must have been, but her face lit up at my response.

"I haven't fed the ducks in ages!"

"Well, honestly … neither have I. And I have a feeling when I say it's been 'ages' it's a lot longer than your last time."

"Tell me" … I wanted to really know Emma. I wanted to know about more in her past than a horrifying dairy farm story. "When did you last feed ducks?"

We strolled together towards the edge of the square, making our way to the park.

"I was six. My aunt and uncle had a little pond on their property. There were ducks. My mom and I would take day old hamburger buns with us whenever we visited. For some reason I thought that was the only kind of bread they would eat."

"I'll bet they would have loved a loaf of fresh country white bread …"

"Well, I hope these Lima ducks appreciate it!" When she giggled she looked so natural and so relaxed. I wanted nothing except to be with her.

We reached the pond and I was relieved to find that the cooler temperatures and breeze had carried away all signs of stagnation on the surface. A family of ducklings trailed several grown-ups waddling up the bank on the other side.

"Now what do we do?" I was afraid our feeding plans were being cut short by disinterested ducks.

"What do you mean, silly? We're the ones with the bread!" Emma pulled the loaf from the bag and tore it apart to share with me.

I watched her walk to the edge of the pond, tentatively stepping over the uneven ground.

"Excuse me!" she called across the pond. "Snack time!"

Tossing a big piece of bread into the water, the plop attracted the attention of one, then two, then the whole family. In short order the two of us lobbed hunks of bread into the pond until it was gone … and becoming so popular with the birds that we could barely contain our laughter as they threatened to chase us.

I don't remember the last time I'd seen Emma laugh that way. In fact, I'm pretty sure I never had. I took her hand to pull her toward a bench, the ducks having finally gotten the message that feeding time was over. She glanced down at the seat and withdrew her hand suddenly. The bench was, even by my standards, pretty disgusting. Her expression was sad and apologetic as our eyes met.

"Hey Em … honestly … you couldn't pay me to sit here …" I exaggerated.

"Oh Will, I somehow doubt that."

"No, seriously … gum … bird poop … c'mon! No way! However, if you will stand here for two minutes max, I just thought of something."

"What?"

"Just hang on, watch my corn … I'll be right back!"

With that I sprinted to my car to retrieve a couple of lawn chairs that I'd had in the hatchback since Shannon and I went to a McKinley girls' varsity softball game back in the spring.

I raced back to where Emma was waiting patiently, a relieved smile spreading across her face as I unfolded the barely used chairs, trying not to gasp too hard for air.

"Thank you, Will! You didn't have to do that."

We settled into our seats, my breathing just beginning to even out.

"No problem! I'm glad I remembered these chairs were in my car. I didn't want this afternoon to end just because we couldn't find a place to sit …" That was definitely more than I meant to say.

Emma's smile softened. "Me neither."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Emma?"

"Yep?"

"Thanks for meeting me today."

"Thanks for inviting me."

"I … I'm really enjoying this … you know, just hanging out together."

"Me too. I guess I don't hang out much. You know what I realized?"

"What?"

"We've never even seen each other in the summer … in all the time I've known you."

Of course I knew this. It was all I could think of when I was trying to get the nerve to call her two days ago.

"Gee, that's right." Even I didn't buy my attempt at nonchalance.

An awkward pause, then I continued, "Em? Would it be okay if we do this every now and then … you know, get together?"

"Yes. Definitely."

She shifted in her seat, diverting her eyes, looking for words it seemed. Then she leveled her gaze at me once more and inhaled as if needing fortification. She blurted out the words with a force that was unexpected. The way she does when she wants to share a real conviction or belief.

"I really like it when you call me Em."

I exhaled in relief. "I'm glad. It feels right."

"Yes. Yes it does," maintaining her air of plainspoken certainty.

After a moment I decided to test the waters even further.

"Em … I know there's a lot we haven't really talked about."

I could sense that she was unsure, perhaps uncomfortable about where the conversation might be headed.

I quickly added, "I guess I … I don't know … I just wanted to acknowledge it … that's all."

"I understand … I think."

"There is something special I wanted to tell you about though." I could feel a nervous energy grow in my belly. The way it does when you share something important with someone and you're hoping they love it as much as you do.

"What? Are you going back to New York?" She seemed suddenly panicky, but I quickly jumped in.

"No … oh God, no! Nothing like that. I want to tell you about this amazing place I found. It's a cottage."

Emma's face relaxed. She sat listening, asking nothing … really hearing me, as I set about telling her the events of my first visit with George Riley last summer … and what had transpired this morning.

**(Really sorry that I'm so lousy at timely updates! Hope you won't give up ... would love honest R&R! Many, many thanks to all who have asked when this story is continuing! I take that as a good sign. And special appreciation to EpicWemma for being a patient, thorough and very helpful advisor!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Cottage**

**Chapter 5 **

(Will's POV)

How much time had I spent in this park growing up? Chasing the Good Humor truck with my friends in grade school. Passing the football back and forth with buddies from McKinley. Tossing a Frisbee with Terri … until the time she claims I sent it spinning at her so fast it caused her to break a nail. That was the end of that.

But today sitting in the park felt not only like a rare time alone with Emma, but time with no agenda. I did have to beat back recurring thoughts about making the next plan, but as we talked I was increasingly able to stay in the moment and enjoy the passage of time with her. And in that time we began to create a new history together. I could feel it. Not based on avoidance and fear, but on getting to know one another, and ourselves I suppose, in a different way.

Once I got started, the story of George's cottage tumbled out as naturally as if I'd told it a hundred times. The truth was I hadn't mentioned the place or my feelings about it to anyone in the past year. And I hadn't returned there until this morning. So I told Emma about it and she listened. Of course she had listened to me about a lot of things for several years now, not counting the intrusion of those months with Carl. But today was different. She wasn't just paying attention, there was something more. Some hint of a possibility that I was too nervous to consider or hope for yet.

(George's POV)

The time spent caring for Sally while she was sick had been arduous, to say the least. But there was purpose in each day. A place to show up. A reason to show up. Someone to show up for. Admittedly there were times when I had to look at her with the same compassionate but detached demeanor that I'd usually reserved for my own patients. Consulting with doctors, reviewing copies of test results, I did those things with the keen thoughtfulness of a true clinician. I had to. And Sally needed me to. The last thing she needed during that time was her husband disintegrating.

When things got worse and the outcome was undeniable, the kids started to visit and pitch in, to come see their mother. In reality those stays created an anxiety in Sally that was surprising. She'd always been a devoted, sometimes too devoted mother. She loved nothing more than being a part of their lives. And while not every choice they made … of career, or spouse, or place to live … was to her liking, she knew enough to temper her opinions in favor of a lasting connection with her children and grandchildren.

But she knew that she was dying and finally, one weekend after our oldest daughter headed back to her family in New Hampshire, she told me she'd had enough. She didn't want them to see her like this. And she didn't want to see them either. She no longer wanted to hear the well-meaning attempts to talk about fun stuff. Memories, even good ones, were hard to think about. And talk about the future was pointless.

When I told the kids, one at a time on the phone, that their mother preferred that they not come to visit anymore, some understood, others did not. But that's another story. Not this story. This story is about a nice young man who I'd met for the first time a little over a year ago.

On Friday morning I went, as I had every Friday morning this spring and summer to put fresh flowers on Sally's grave. She'd died back in the fall and for me the winter had been spent moving mindlessly between sons and daughters for the holidays and into the beginning of the new year.

The warm weather and longer days were welcome for lots of reasons. For one thing, my son and daughter-in-law in Florida no longer felt like I needed to come and stay with them to escape the cold. I liked the changing seasons and had no desire to bounce around the country trying to avoid any of them. The other reason was that it was time … time to move out of the cottage. It was hard to weed through, pare down and clean out in the middle of the winter. I'd saved those chores for spring, and I'd made great progress. Now was the time … so the realtors said … to sell.

Like clockwork I'd get twice weekly phone calls from Nancy Webber, the cheerful agent who had the listing saying, "Don't you fret, Dr. Riley! This place is a gem. Bad housing market or not, someone is going to come along and snatch this place right up."

Her voice was so eager and sincere, just like her photo on the sign in my front yard. She looked sure and smart and trustworthy … and she sounded that way on the message machine. The kids kept telling me that I needed an iPhone and a Twitter account so that I could be reached anytime, anywhere … not only as a safety precaution for a senior citizen in case of emergencies, but also to make sure that I didn't miss a call about selling the cottage. I resisted, though. After a lifetime of being on call and getting beeps from the hospital at all hours I was happy being a little less available. My Radio Shack answering machine from 1987 was enough for me. It was a relic and that felt comforting somehow.

Anyway, the weeks had turned into months. Of the folks who had come by to see the place, a few had returned seeming genuinely interested, but nothing took hold. Then last Saturday there was a man and his wife who showed up in a shiny silver SUV that was wider than my driveway. They were on their second trip to see the place. Nancy, ever the perky realtor, hopped out of her car to join them on the lawn as I peered through the front curtains. They were deep in conversation for some time.

Finally, I went out to meet Nancy who was coming up to the porch, the couple continuing their private chat in the yard. "Great news Dr. Riley! This could be it!"

"Yes? _It_ what?"

"They're talking now, but I feel sure we're going to have a very good offer before the weekend is over."

"Oh, good … good. Don't they want to come in? I know they've seen the place, but …"

"No, no … that won't be necessary. They aren't interested in the cottage itself."

"I'm sorry …I'm not following."

"They've spent some time this week talking to the Greater Lima Architectural Review and Planning Board to make sure that they can build here. It's looking very positive!"

"Build here? Build what here?"

Nancy's eyes were huge as she described the place. You would have thought she was moving in with them. "A bigger house. A contemporary probably. They want big rooms, they have 3 kids and they love some of the countryside views out back so they're looking for a design with lots of glass, hoping to take out some trees …"

"Let me get this straight. They want to bulldoze my home and build a new house right here?"

"Well, Dr. Riley … this place is charming … absolutely … but if they're willing to give you your asking price …"

At which point I did something I've never done in my life. I firmly, but gently, took the woman by the elbow and guided her down the steps and back towards the couple. The man looked away from his wife and reached out to shake my hand at which point I let go of Nancy Webber, turned and yanked the For Sale sign out of the ground and tossed it on the lawn. "I'm not interested in doing business with any of you", I announced, walking back into my house.

_**(I'd planned to make this a longer chapter with Wemma interaction, but that's holding up my publishing this one … so here goes. Many thanks to EpicWemma for the guidance and support … and to everyone who has been following and reviewing. You have no idea how much it helps!)**_


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